


Rubbed Raw

by theflyingtommo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingtommo/pseuds/theflyingtommo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fanfic about Louis’ struggle to keep everything in his life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubbed Raw

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the people in this story. This is for entertainment purposes only, and is purely fiction.

Louis stood in the shower and scrubbed his skin under the scolding hot water. His hands were starting to prune up and his delicate, white skin was proving to be a little too sensitive for the harsh cleaning. But Louis didn’t care. Anything to wipe the memories of last night away. Anything to forget that pain.

It wasn’t unusual for Harry to cuddle with Niall or Liam when he was drunk. It wasn’t even surprising when he sauntered out of Zayn’s quarters on occasion after the impromptu drunken fuck, but Louis was different. Harry made it a point to stay away from Louis when he was drunk, and this, Louis thinks, confuses him more than anything else. Harry would only sleep with him, touch him, or kiss him completely sober. It’s not that he minded, but it was confusing for him all the same.

You see, Louis Tomlinson had been in love with Harry Styles since he first laid eyes on him, and Harry Styles, had since become, the bane of his existence. So one might wonder why Louis is rubbing his skin raw after a night of sex and cuddles with Harry, seeing as Harry is the only thing he ever thinks about.

The answer is simple. Louis isn’t gay. More so, he can’t be; they can’t be. He has Eleanor, and management to please, and no matter how perfect Harry’s lips and thighs and hands are, they won’t change the blindingly obvious facts of reality. They just can’t be together. So, every morning that Louis wakes up next to Harry he makes himself get up, jumps in the hottest shower he can possibly stand, and scrubs the memories of lust and love off of his skin so he can muster up enough courage to lie for at least one more day.

And Louis hates himself for it every time. He hates the frown he sees on Harry’s face when he un-lovingly untangles himself from the younger boy. He hates the worry lines that have formed there from all of those frowns. He hates not being able to smooth those worries away with kisses and sweet nothings whispered into pillows until the mid-afternoon sun and hunger forces them to get up. He misses the days when it was simpler. The days before they were touring when he and Harry could lounge around their flat naked and do nothing all day. But most of all he hates the memories that flood him and his realization that there may never be time to make more.

They’re big, so big, so famous, and constantly watched. And for a closet couple who can literally not be caught out in public, sometimes it’s hard not to resent the fame and money and just wish for a normal life with the person you love. Let’s be honest, not everything about this life is bad. Louis wasn’t always gay, or not gay, or whatever he has to be for management, so Eleanor is great, and sometimes he can imagine himself slipping into a nice rhythm and lifestyle with her. But then Harry will turn up in the papers with rumors of a new girl-friend and that will send Louis into one of his manic fits, and no one likes to see those drunken parades, especially not Louis. The thing about those tabloid’s rumors is that Louis knows they aren’t true. He knows that as soon as he steps on that tour bus Harry will be flying into his arms, dragging him back to their bed to make up for lost time, but it’s the mere idea of Harry being with someone else that just sends him. He only makes it worse for himself though, he know he has no one else to blame.

But still, he scrubs. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but he knows that Harry has long since vacated Louis’ bed and the premises so he could have his space. He knows this hurts Harry more then he let’s on. He knows that he should talk to the boy about the situation, but haven’t they already done that? Weren’t they forced to talk to their producers and label CEO’s and VP’s about their relationship? Weren’t they told to ‘just forget about it’ long ago? Back before it got more complicated? Back before Louis was forced to ‘date’ Eleanor? Louis feels like he’s talked about this a hundred times! The only reason he keeps coming back to it is because there is no solution; nothing that could make their heartache any less painful. Louis loves Harry, and they both know that they will never be able to be together, and that will eat Louis away until the day he dies.

When Louis steps out of the tub there’s a note, scribbled in the steam that his shower left, on the mirror. It’s from Harry telling him he’s making breakfast and it has an obscene amount of hearts and exclamation points surrounding the finger-written letters. Thinking about Harry writing that note just makes Louis think about Harry’s hands and he contemplates getting back in the shower, but he figures he can’t scrub away the thought of Harry that easily, so he wraps a towel around is waist and heads into the light of another day. Not being gay. Not being with Harry. Not really being Louis. But just being.


End file.
